Dreamworld Shutdown
by Stayce
Summary: Ever wondered about the story behind Morpheus? This is my take on it. Disclaimer: I don't own The Matrix and this is all just a bit of fun, so if anyone from WB ever actually reads this please don't sue me.
1. Prologue: The Kitchen

THE MATRIX  
  
DREAMWORLD SHUTDOWN (WORKING TITLE)  
  
AUTHORS NOTE: This is probably going to be the hardest story I've tried to write so far in my fan fiction career. It's my first Matrix fan fic (not my first fan fic), and from the looks of things you're quite a tough bunch to impress. Nevertheless, I'm in need of some feedback and it looks like this is the place to come if I want constructive criticism. By the way, if anyone does actually like this story, it may take a little time for updates, as at present I don't have my own Internet connection, I'm borrowing someone else's. So anyway, if I haven't scared you off yet with my rambling, read on and enjoy. maybe.  
  
PROLOGUE: THE KITCHEN  
  
The man watched the motherly looking woman slumped in her chair, her ample frame filling its wooden confines to almost bursting point. Her dress was covered in flowers, bright yellows and reds that seemed to shine brightly in the dimness of the kitchen. Outside the rain hammered hard against the window, beating out a staccato rhythm that played over and over inside his head.  
  
He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. This wasn't real. None of this was real, the rain, the window, the room and its peeling wallpaper. Nothing here was real, save him and the woman. There was a slight ping from the oven nestled in among the kitchen units. The woman smiled. Slowly she stood and made her way across the kitchen, opening the oven and clutching tightly to the warm bowl of cookie dough.  
  
She clung to this place, clung to this false reality as if it were the real world. The man sneered at that. He'd seen the real world and it was looking quite the worse for wear these days. It was a world where the flowers that littered her dress were nothing but rotting mulch, where dark clouds boiled in the sky and lightning ripped apart the remains of the surface. He shivered at the memory of it all. It was the world he lived in.  
  
The woman dipped her finger in the dough and tasted it. She hummed with pleasure.  
  
"Not to sound too conceited here," she said with a smile, "but this does taste good. Here, try some." The man shook his head at the proffered bowl.  
  
"I didn't come here to eat." He said, glancing disdainfully at the dough. "Besides, it tastes wrong." The woman gave him a knowing grin.  
  
"Or it tastes right. The truth is, you just don't know."  
  
"And I don't care." The woman shook her head.  
  
"Still trying to deny existence?"  
  
"I'm not trying." He replied sharply. "This place doesn't exist."  
  
"Only to your mind." The man gave her a dark smile.  
  
"I have a unique perspective." He said.  
  
"Not so unique as you'd like to think." The woman said, turning her back on him.  
  
She began spooning the thick dough onto a greased tray, carefully measuring each dollop out, before cutting away the excess and flattening the dough. The man gave a frustrated grunt. Always double talk with the old witch, as if there some meaning behind it all, some ultimate truth that so far no one besides her self had cottoned onto. But he knew the truth. There was no meaning, no secret underlying this nonexistent world. He'd seen this world laid bare before his very eyes. Everything he'd ever known had been washed away in an instant as he'd gazed at that glowing green rain. He hated the truth.  
  
"You haven't seen beyond this." He said, motioning with at the peeling walls of the kitchen. "But you still think you know the truth."  
  
"Truth isn't always appearance." She said knowingly. A brief growl escaped from behind the man's clenched teeth.  
  
"How much more double talk? I need new recruits, our numbers are dwindling and you're the best supplier we have." The woman paused for a moment, staring critically at the shaped cookie dough. She gave a slight harrumph and made her way over to the sink. The sound of running water drowned out the rhythmic thudding of the rain.  
  
"This batch isn't ready yet." She said, wiping her hands dry on her apron. "The ingredients are two raw. In time they'll be ready."  
  
"I need new blood, and I need it now. You can't just expect me to wait around while you drill your philosophy into them."  
  
"If you want them to be any use to you, then you would do better if you let me teach them."  
  
"Teach them then, but I need at least one." The woman let out a short sharp breath from her nostrils, a derogatory snort grated on the man's nerves. Her methods were too slow for him. Slowly, she closed her eyes and sighed.  
  
Long minutes passed. The man took to staring at the rain as it streaked down the window. The patterns it followed were exacting, a perfect exercise in mathematical precision. There was nothing in the least bit organic about them. Suddenly the woman's eyes opened wide and she smiled again.  
  
"I've seen one who may be of use to you." She said. The man turned his sneer to her again.  
  
"And where is he?"  
  
"Now, now," she said wagging a finger at him, "I can't just go telling you about people. That wouldn't be ethical." The man frowned.  
  
"We're not in the business of ethics. We're in the business of survival, and I intend to go on surviving. Now tell me who this person I need is." The woman's shoulders slumped in surrender, her whole body sagging visibly.  
  
"I can't tell you who he is for certain, because I'm not too sure myself. All I know is a name."  
  
"A name!"  
  
"Oh come now." The woman said, sarcasm ringing in her voice. "With all those resources you like to boast about at your disposal, finding someone from just their name shouldn't be too difficult."  
  
"Fine." Said the man, doing his best to bite back his rising fury. He could destroy this place completely with little effort, bring the woman to her knees in moments if he desired, but the cause needed her. Humanity needed her, and no matter how much he disliked her, he had to admit that he needed her.  
  
"Tell me his name then."  
  
"Morpheus." Said the woman slowly. "His name is Morpheus." 


	2. Nightmares Again?

CHAPTER ONE: NIGHTMARES AGAIN?  
  
The darkness was cloying, damp and revolting. It clung to his skin like leeches in swamps. It was almost like liquid, oozing over him, around him and under him. Slowly he opened his eyes. A strange thick sludge filled his vision, dark tubes coiling away from his body like ropes entwining him, dragging him down, down deeper into the liquid. Something was jammed down his throat, a thick foul tasting object that made him gag desperately. He began to panic, thrashing desperately around him. His arms felt strangely weak as they thrashed vainly against the invisible walls that surrounded him. His efforts only served to exhaust him, his entire strength spent in a matter of minutes. The panic unravelling in his heart gripped him tighter still and he opened his mouth in a silent scream only to find the viscous fluid all around him swallow his cries like a monster.  
  
Kyle awoke sharply and suddenly, his whole body tense and covered in a fine sheen of perspiration. The thin bed sheets clung to him like the fluid from his dream. Desperately he began clawing at them, dragging them off him. He practically leapt out of the bed, his panic growing with each passing second. He stared wildly around the room, taking in his surroundings. It was his room. No sign of tubes, pink gunk or things about to be shoved down his throat. He let out a long relaxing breath.  
  
"Nothing to worry about." He muttered under his breath. "See everything present and correct."  
  
"Nightmares again?" He turned to see Gayle watching him. God she was gorgeous with the moon shining on her like that, its silver light playing of her long dark hair.  
  
"Oh yeah." He said turning to glance out of the window at the city around them. The thick rain clouds of earlier that night had cleared to leave only thin wisps that hovered across the sinking moon. "Definitely nightmares again."  
  
Gayle clambered out of the bed; the sheet wrapped around her and walked over to where he stood by the window. She reached up and draped her arm across his shoulders, staring past him to the silvery moon above.  
  
"How many is this now?" She asked, nuzzling softly against his neck. Kyle groaned.  
  
"I've lost count." He said. His head felt strangely bloated, throbbing pain pulsing across the surface of his mind. Slowly he reached up and rubbed the bridge of his nose.  
  
"Why can't I have proper dreams?" He muttered from behind teeth gritted in pain.  
  
"Guilty conscience." Said Gayle with a mischievous smile.  
  
"My head feels like it's going to explode." He grunted. "Did you get the paracetamol I asked for?" Gayle sighed disappointedly.  
  
"Yeah," she said. "Yeah I got you what you asked for." She turned and stared out of the window.  
  
"Who's that guy?" she said, pointing down toward the edge of the street.  
  
Kyle followed her gaze past the reams of trash cans and garbage bags that lined the street, through the steam that poured from the sewer grates, right to where the road turned a corner. The orange halo of a lamppost glowed warmly against the surrounding darkness. And there he was. The man was standing at the edge of the light, dressed in a cleanly pressed grey suit, dark brogue shoes and thin wire framed sunglasses. He was perfectly still, almost as if he didn't even see the need to breathe. Worst of all, he seemed to be staring straight at them.  
  
"I don't know," Said Kyle, his eyes narrowing uncomfortably under the man's steady gaze, "But I think maybe we should go back to bed now." Slowly he reached up for the cord to drop the blinds. Just before the blinds obscured him from view, Kyle could have sworn he saw the man reach up to touch something in his ear.  
  
At the end of the road, the Agent continued to stare up at the window. It wasn't really looking at a window that faced into a dingy block of flats in the city slums, nor was it actually touching an earpiece. It wasn't even the middle aged male it appeared to be. It was in actual fact a security program, browsing coolly through one of the millions of active memory areas of the Matrix. The earpiece was simply part of a carrier signal, providing the Agent with a constant flow of system updates and registry changes. Standard operating procedures demanded regular updates of Matrix stability and security, allowing Agents to prioritise risks and act upon them accordingly.  
  
Right now the young human male whose consciousness resided in this particular area of the Matrix's complex memory structure was receiving a class two threat assessment request, and so the Agent had responded. Its diagnostic protocols had immediately identified the fault. The young human's connection to the Matrix was tenuous and to prevent permanent synaptic decay to the specimen, the Matrix's preservation protocols were periodically resetting the connection.  
  
The Agent glided closer to the building, drifting on code strings that flashed by. Even for its kind, the Matrix was an impressive feat, an entire artificial world and perfect in every way. A world that was totally indistinguishable from the history it emulated, human kind at the peak of its civilisation. No wonder they'd been so easily beaten down. The Agent hadn't existed at the time of the war. No Agents had. They were a creation of the Matrix, which had come later. That didn't mean that it didn't understand humanity. It understood the sacks of flesh and blood all too well, better than most of its kind in fact. It lived in their world, saw their lives and hated each and every one of them.  
  
Slowly it focused its diagnostic protocols on the young humans connection. The damage to the connection was external. It would take a real world maintenance unit to repair this. Automatically it logged a repair request with the central mainframe. In less than a second the request was answered.  
  
"All units tasked. Request denied." For the first time in the Agents operational history, something approaching pleasure drifted through its programming. If the human's connection couldn't be maintained, standard operating procedure provided only one solution. In the world of the Matrix, the Agent's depiction smiled. It had never got to kill a human before. 


	3. Day in the Life

CHAPTER TWO: DAY IN THE LIFE  
  
Kyle rolled over in his bed and groaned at the feeling of warm sunlight on his face. Feebly, he opened one eye and glared at the bedside clock. Its small red digital display stared defiantly back at him. Seven twenty seven. He'd only managed to get to sleep again after the nightmare two hours ago.  
  
He groaned again at the scent of frying eggs drifting in from the small kitchen compartment across the living room. It looked like Gayle was already up and cooking breakfast. Slowly he sat up and immediately wished he hadn't. The whole room spun as a lancing pain shot through his skull. Biting back a cry of agony he reached up and began to slowly massage his temples. It wasn't as if the motion actually did anything but he still felt better for it, as if his body was at least cutting him some slack for his vain attempts at relief. Carefully, so as not to upset his head any further he clambered out of the bed and padded barefoot over the creaking wooden floor.  
  
"Here you go." Said Gayle poking her head round the partition wall to smile at him. "Your favourite fried eggs, coming right up." He smiled back, the headache lessening with every step he took.  
  
"Sounds delicious." He said, seating himself at the kitchen table and picking up the mornings newspaper and tearing out the jobs column. This was becoming quite the ritual for him. Every morning he woke up, came in to the kitchen and settled down to look for jobs. The operative word of course being, looked for.  
  
He'd been looking for the past six months, and for a guy, whose IQ was supposedly one hundred and thirty, jobs seemed quite thin on the ground.  
  
"By the way," said Gayle, her smile fading into a disapproving frown, "Grant called just before you woke up." Kyle felt his heart plunge. What did Grant want now?  
  
"He said for you to meet him at the corner Wilson and Rosener, at midday. Sounded like he had some business for you." Kyle could smell the eggs beginning to burn, as she continued to shuffle the pan back and forth on the oven hob.  
  
"Kyle," she said, her voice becoming flat and emotionless as she turned her back on him, "I thought you were finished with all that." Kyle scraped back his chair and made his way over to her, the jobs column left forgotten. Her shoulders were beginning to shake with silent sobs just as he wrapped his arms around them. He hugged her tightly, soaking up the warmth of her skin, the scent of her perfume. God he loved her.  
  
"Oh baby," he said, kissing the back of her head, "I am, or at least I'm trying. But you know the kind of person Grant is. He just doesn't take no for an answer, and besides," he his arm moved in a broad sweep, encompassing the whole of the dingy flat, "It's not like we don't need the money right now." She rounded on him, her tear stained eyes suddenly filled with anger.  
  
"Then maybe you should consider finding a job." Her voice was laden with disdain. "It's not like you don't have the time."  
  
"Oh yeah!" Kyle shot back, his own anger beginning to flourish. It wasn't like he hadn't been trying, and she knew that.  
  
"Every day for the past six months, and I mean every single day, I've been out there," he pointed out of the window at the city beyond. "I've been hunting high and low for a job, but there isn't exactly that much going for a retired car thief out in the big harsh professional world." He scrubbed his hand through his short-cropped hair. "It's alright for you. You've everything you need to get a job. Skills, college education, a CV with more than just your name and address on it, but as for me, well there are too things in this world that I'm good at. Stealing cars and selling them afterwards."  
  
Gayle stared at him as if he had just grown another head. The way his was feeling at the moment it wouldn't surprise. Slowly, more tears began to well up in her eyes. The moment he finished ranting, Kyle felt his anger begin to fall away. She hadn't asked for this. She hadn't wanted to become swept up in his life. It had just sort of happened.  
  
"Baby I'm sorry." He said, hugging her tighter, "I'm so sorry. But you know I've been trying, and we really do need the money."  
  
"I just want you to be careful." She said, sobs wracking her body. "I don't think I could stand it if anything happened to you."  
  
"Hey, hey, hey." said Kyle as he took her face in both hands and tilted it back so that she was looking him in the eye. "Just look at me." He gave her a reassuring grin.  
  
"Do I look like the kind of guy who something's about to happen to? I mean c'mon. The last excitement I had was when I ran out of gas on the interstate." She gave a laugh at that.  
  
"I remember." She said, her smile looking strange against her tear stained cheeks. "You had to walk five miles to the nearest gas station, and when you got back, you realised you'd managed to lock yourself out of the car." Kyle grinned broadly.  
  
"Hey, it was an easy mistake to ma." he was cut off as her lips covered his in a kiss.  
  
"Just be safe." She said quietly as she pulled away.  
  
"Always." He smiled back.  
  
*****  
  
Kyle remembered the doughnut stall on the corner of Wilson and Rosener. It had been the regular pick up and drop off point whenever he had dealt with Grant. He sure as hell didn't remember it for the doughnuts. They tasted like reconstituted cardboard and smelled even worse. How the thing had managed to stay in business for so long was completely beyond him.  
  
He gave a long deep yawn as a wave of exhaustion passed over him. Sleep was something that hadn't been coming easily to him recently. He was still yawning when the van pulled up in front of him, the back doors swinging open before it had even come to a full stop. A man only a little older than him leaned out, his thick blonde hair hanging in shaggy curtains down either side of his grinning face.  
  
"Hey, Morpheus." The blonde man laughed. "You gonna get in or do I have to send you a written invitation." Kyle grinned  
  
"What can I say Grant," Kyle grinned, "I love your penmanship." Grant rolled his eyes.  
  
"Just get in here."  
  
The van rocked slightly as it thudded over a speed bump. Kyle watched as Grant spoke hurriedly into the receiver of a mobile phone.  
  
"Yeah. Yeah. Yeah he's here. Yeah. I understand." Before the phone had even clicked shut, Kyle began to speak.  
  
"What's going on here Grant? You know I'm retired." Grant grinned at him.  
  
"So you keep telling me. But I know you Mor."  
  
"Don't call me that. I'm not Morpheus anymore. I'm Kyle and you know it."  
  
"Ah c'mon man!" Grant groaned. "What's this sudden new life kick you're on? Is it that bony little bitch you're screwing? It is isn't it! She's got you totally whipped."  
  
"Hey!" said Kyle, outrage creeping into his voice. "This isn't about Gayle, okay. I was having doubts a long time before I even met her!" he shrugged. "She just helped me put things in perspective is all." A look of utter disbelief hung on Grant's face.  
  
"What sort of perspective? I know you Morpheus." Kyle tried to protest but Grant pushed on regardless. "You were the coolest head in town when it came to the business. Then Jimmy bought it and suddenly you're all nerves." Kyle raised his eyebrows at him.  
  
"Yeah Grant. There's nothing like your best friend getting killed, to make you think 'hey, my life's on the right track'."  
  
"Okay then. If you're so out, what're you doing here?" Kyle shrugged again.  
  
"Times are tight and I need the money." Grant chuckled dryly.  
  
"Ain't the real world a bitch?"  
  
The van ground to halt just outside a dilapidated warehouse on the outskirts of the city. Kyle thought the whole place looked like something out of a bad gangster movie. It was the kind of building where the two sides met to settle scores and ended up blowing each other's brains out. Something about that thought unnerved him terribly.  
  
"What's the deal Grant?" he said as he crunched through the gravel alongside the older blonde man and his entourage. His eyes roved over the crumbling structure. Huge chunks of the roof were missing, as if it had been built without them, and the whole place had an aura of foreboding about it. "You could have gone to any of the guys with this deal and I'm sure they'd jump at it. Why ask me?"  
  
"Because this guy wants you."  
  
"Me personally?" Grant turned a frown on him.  
  
"No, the other less personal one of you. Goes by the name of Morpheus, maybe you've met him."  
  
"Would you stop with this Morpheus crap!" Kyle felt like screaming but held it back. "It was a stupid nickname." Grant held his hands up in mock surrender.  
  
"Hey man, don't shoot the messenger. The guy said he wanted the best for this deal. Didn't say he wanted Kyle, said he wanted Morpheus." Kyle shrugged.  
  
"So the guy's information is out of date. Guess I'll just have to correct him." Grant laughed out loud at that.  
  
"Whatever you say man." he pushed the heavy door to the warehouse open for Kyle, stepping through just behind him. "But this guy, well he sounded like something of hard a." his voice trailed off as he caught sight of the three men who stood in exact centre of the warehouse.  
  
Something about the precision of their placement unnerved Kyle. The only thing that unnerved him more was their clothes. They seemed to be arranged in order of size, tallest on the left, shortest on the right. The tallest wore a short leather bomber jacket and a wide brimmed fedora that gave him the look of some kind of Wild West gunslinger. His arms were folded across his chest, but Kyle had spent enough time around hired muscle to tell when someone was tensed, ready for action.  
  
The one on the right hand side was the complete opposite. His head was completely shaved save a topknot of jet-black hair that jutted from the rear of his skull. A long flowing trench coat, blacker than Kyle thought possible hung almost to the ground, disguising the man's build remarkably well. In his left hand he held a long thin case at least half his height.  
  
The man in the middle was by far the most unnerving. He stood in his own long black coat with short dark hair that was greying at the temples. An immaculate black suit was evident beneath, and his arms were folded behind his back. His head was tilted back slightly, giving him the appearance of a man who saw everything around him with disdain. Without exception they all wore sunglasses.  
  
"Is this him, Grant?" The middle man's voice was full of confidence, but even Kyle could feel the hatred that shone through the well spoken veneer he adopted. He took a step forward threateningly. "And don't disappoint me."  
  
"Yes, this is him." Said Grant, his normally brash and arrogant voice filled with unease.  
  
"Fade." Said the middle man, as if giving instructions. Kyle was about to ask what the hell he was talking about, when the shortest of the three walked up to him.  
  
"Name." He said simply. Kyle frowned in confusion. What the hell was going on?  
  
"What?" he said, desperate thoughts swimming through his head. Who were these people? Why did they want him? Something told him they weren't hiring him for his services as a car boost. He glanced at the man in the middle, and for the briefest moment the memories of his recent nightmares flashed through his mind.  
  
"I asked you, what is your name?" the small man repeated.  
  
"Kyle Jeffries." He said, trying not to let his voice shake.  
  
"Date of birth?" The little man demanded.  
  
"First of October, nineteen sixty one." He said without pause.  
  
"Blood type?" he asked. Kyle frowned for a moment.  
  
"A." he ventured uncertainly. The smaller man turned and looked back at the middle man. Kyle assumed he was the leader.  
  
"He seems to check out." The middle man smiled. It wasn't a nice smile.  
  
"Bring him here. It's time we were leaving."  
  
"Hey, now wait a minute!" said Grant, stepping forward as he did so. "We had a deal here. "I get Morpheus for your dirty little job, you cut me in on this boost!" The middle man frowned for a moment, then gave a dry laugh before turning away.  
  
"Fade, bring Morpheus, and Buckshot, explain the situation to our friend Mr Grant here." The gunslinger going by the name of Buckshot straightened and took a step forward.  
  
"Listen to me little man." he said. "You're out of your depth here, and you have no idea how much. I suggest you get out of here before you see something you shouldn't or." Kyle barely even saw him move. One moment his arms were folded, the next one hand was resting casually at his hip, while the other held an absurdly large looking six shot pistol, pointed squarely at Grant's head. "Things are going to get messy." Buckshot finished.  
  
*****  
  
The Agent had never seen rebel humans in the Matrix before. If it had been capable of such emotion, it would have been surprised it had never noticed them. Their code strings glowed brighter than the rest, and their ident signatures were conspicuous only by their absence while their encryption codes were completely different to standard Matrix patterns.  
  
It roved through the rest of the code for the warehouse, hunting for the male it had been pursuing. Standard operating procedure indicated that termination of the security threat should be accomplished when the threat had been successfully isolated so as to avoid spreading suspicion and panic among the other humans. If it had known resistance members were going to turn up, it would have eliminated him long before by now, most likely in the flat. The other human, the female, had posed a negligible security breach and could have been tolerated.  
  
Suddenly, the Agent stopped. There was the human male. It focused on the code string, isolating it from those around it. The subject appeared to be alongside a resistance member. This could make things a little more difficult, but not much. The resistance posed little real threat to Agents. No human could. In the Matrix, Agents were the ultimate power and nothing could stand against them.  
  
Slowly, the Agent began to hunt for a host. 


	4. Flight

Authors Note: Sorry this part took so long, but unfortunately, the rest of the story isn't going to be any quicker coming. I'm very busy right now and just don't have as much time to write as I'd like (exams are a complete bitch!). Anyway, I know it's a fairly measly update, but here it is regardless. Hope you all enjoy.

CHAPTER THREE: FLIGHT

The small man going by the name of Fade had a grip like iron, his fingers digging cruelly into Kyle's arm as he frogmarched him across the warehouse toward the apparent leader. Behind him, Kyle could hear Grant, desperately trying to salvage what he could from the situation. 

"Hey, just cool down man. No one's going to try anything." The response from Buckshot was chilling. 

"You think I'd give you a chance to try?"

"Calm down. All I meant was, there's no need for the gun." Grant sounded like he was on the edge of hysteria. Kyle didn't blame him. This whole situation was getting desperately out of hand. Vainly, he twisted his arm in an attempt to wrench free Fade's vice like grip. The smaller man simply gripped tighter, eliciting a hiss of pain from between Kyle's clenched teeth. For a moment Fade paused. 

"Don't struggle. We're not here to harm you." 

Suddenly, from behind Grant let out a cry of alarm that was swiftly cut short. Kyle twisted his head just in time to the blonde car thief writhing on the ground in agony. He watched with grim fascination as Grant's whole body began to stretch and contort. His blonde hair shortened rapidly, losing its wild, unkempt look and becoming neatly brushed with a harsh side parting. His rippled as if made of liquid shimmering from a tatty pair of jeans, T-shirt, and boots into an immaculate grey suit and polished brogues. Out of nowhere, a pair of thin wire framed sunglasses that covered the man's eyes appeared. It was the man he'd seen stood beneath the lamppost the night before. The man he'd sworn had been watching him.

Slowly, but with deadly certainty, the strange man clambered to his feet, sparing only a moment to brush down his suit. All the while, his eyes scanned the assembled group until they finally fell upon Kyle. A slight smile touched the corner of the man's mouth as he began to stride purposefully toward them.

"That guy on the other hand," said Fade, yanking Kyle after him as he broke into a run, "is definitely here to hurt you." 

As they ran, the leader dashed up to them, taking Kyle by the other arm as they sprinted along. 

"Fade." He ordered. "Get back there and help Buckshot. Don't go hero on me, just buy us some time then break off. We'll meet you at the rendezvous in an hour."

"Hey!" demanded Kyle, "What's all this we business? You guys kidnapping me."

"Not kidnapping, rescuing. Now come on. We're getting out of here before that guy gets his hands on you." 

Kyle grunted as he felt the man's fingers tighten in the same vice like grip as Fade's. The man was a fast runner. It took all Kyle's efforts just to keep up with him as they sprinted across the warehouse. 

"Could you explain to me just what th…" he was cut short as the man pointed a sizeable machine pistol over his shoulder at him. Kyle swallowed. "Never mind." 

Chancing a glance over his shoulder he was amazed at what he saw. With a flick of his wrist, Fade's long case flipped open. The short man's arms moved with superhuman speed, snaring the glistening sword within and swinging out at arms length to strike at the strange man. Kyle winced as the sword glistened in what little light filled the warehouse. No human could possibly avoid that strike. Except this one did. The stranger dodged aside, his whole body little more than a blur, the sword whistling harmlessly past him. Buckshot had drawn another revolver, an exact duplicate of the first that was now trained on the blur of motion. The hammer slammed down, ejecting a bullet with a vicious boom and a bright muzzle flash. The stranger ducked and rolled, impossibly _dodging _the bullet, which hurtled by to embed itself in a nearby wall. Kyle watched in growing horror as Buckshot continued to unload bullet after bullet. Not one touched the fast moving man who was already well out of reach of any retaliatory strikes from Fade's sword. He blinked. The man was pursuing them. 

The leader dragging him span, kicking a flimsy door open in a hail of splinters as the lock flexed then snapped under the pressure. 

"Come on." He grunted, dragging Kyle up the steps on the other side. Kyle stumbled several times, but the man never slowed, forcibly tugging at him if necessary until Kyle regained his footing. The top of the stairs loomed and another door suffered the same fate as its mate below. The man dashed out into sunlight that almost blinded Kyle after the gloom of the warehouse. He would've killed for the mans pair of sunglasses right now. Pausing only for a moment to let Kyle catch his breath after the nightmare ascent, the man grabbed again and yanked him into action as they sprinted across the roof. The man scraped to a halt at the edge of the building, his feet visibly skidding in the dirt. Kyle was so lucky. He cried out in alarm as his momentum carried him out off the building. 

"Oh shiiiit!" he yelled as he hurtled out into mid air, only to feel the man's grip tighten sharply, yanking him back toward the roof. His momentum carried him in a wide arc as he swung back to the security of the roof. Spitting dust, he clambered up from where he had fallen and turned wide-eyed at the man. He was stood, perfectly balanced, as if nothing had even happened.  

"Who the hell are you!" he demanded as he clambered angrily to his feet. The man shot him a chilling glance that Kyle could tell was supposed to silence him. It worked. Turning away, he drew a small cell phone from inside his long flowing coat and jabbed in a number. Kyle could vaguely make out the voice on the other end. It was a man. 

"Dozer, it's Uriel." He stared around the edges of the building from his vantage point. "I need a quick getaway. You got anything?" His eyes travelled to the nearby railway line that ran through the yard nearby, a deserted offloading platform nearby. Kyle frowned. He didn't like the sound of this. 

"You'd better be right." The man said, snapping the phone shut with a loud clack before turning back to Kyle.

"Time to go." He said, grabbing him by the wrist again. 

"Go where?" said Kyle, dreading the answer. The man shot him a cruel grin. 

"We're catching a train." Kyle's eyes widened. Hearing it didn't make it any better. 

"That track is at least a hundred metres away!" he yelled, pointing emphatically at the track as if it would make a difference. "How are we supposed to get to it?" Behind them, the sound of running footsteps echoed up the stairwell. The strange man in the suit appeared, sprinting toward them as if the very hounds of hell were at his heels. 

"We jump!" snapped Uriel. He grabbed Kyle roughly, sweeping him up like a babe in arms and dashed for the edge of the rooftop. Kyle watched in horror as he leapt, the same way he would jump over a crack a whole a foot wide. They were never going to make it. He closed his eyes, expecting the two of them to meet a messy end on the tarmac below. Nothing happened. Cautiously he opened one eye. They were sailing through the air on a graceful downward arc toward the railway lines. Turning his head he caught sight of their intended target. The cargo train hurtled through past the platform without even slowing. He watched with a sinking feeling as the last carriage rattled through the platform. Time seemed to slow to him as they dropped toward the carriage. Inch by painful inch he watched as the carriage rattled by desperately praying that they would make it. The moment his feet touched the solid steel of the cargo pod loaded onto the train it was as if someone had just hit the play button on a remote control after watching in frame by frame. The world tilted violently as Uriel's knees bent to absorb the impact. Slowly he lowered Kyle to the carriage, straightening afterwards, his spine audibly cracking. Kyle clambered to his feet hurriedly, his mind whirling. What the hell had just happened?

"Okay Superman!" he yelled as the wind whipped violently at his shirt causing it to beat violently against his chest. "Time you answered some of my questions!" Uriel turned to look at him for moment. Even with the sunglasses, Kyle could feel that gaze upon him. It was steady, unwavering, and incredibly unnerving, almost as if he was appraising some new property.

"You'll do." He said simply and turned to stride away toward the front of the train, the howling wind seeming not to touch him. Kyle was about to follow when he caught sight of the spot where they had landed. Uriel's knees had left huge dents in inch thick steel.

"What are you?" Kyle whispered quietly to himself. 

*****

The Agent watched serenely as the lines of code hurtled by, carrying away its target at a rate that even it wouldn't be able to match. It stood for a moment, surveying the situation calmly. Its target had escaped! The Agent immediately ran a self-diagnostic. Something had to be wrong. In it's entire operational history it had never once failed at an assigned task. It had to be glitching. 

The diagnostic results fed back to it. No confirmed errors. It's code was stable. There no bugs, no file corruptions, it had simply failed. In the world of the Matrix, the Agent shook its head. This wasn't possible. Its programming was perfect, an exercise in mathematical precision and calculation that no mere human could match. But these ones had. A lone rebel and malfunctioning meat sack had bested it. 

The Agent shook as it performed diagnostic after diagnostic, scanning its own innards with something approaching desperation. It couldn't fail. It just couldn't. Agents did not fail. But it had. That same thing kept occurring to it, unbidden and unwanted it floated up through the Agent's coding. 

Finally it turned and drifted off through the coding of the Matrix. It couldn't fail. It couldn't fail. It couldn't fail. It couldn't fail. It wouldn't fail. It wouldn't fail. It wouldn't fail. It wouldn't fail. It wouldn't fail. It wouldn't….. 


	5. Wake Up Call

Authors Note: Sorry about how long it's been but I've been really busy recently. Anyway, I'm trying to get back into my writing again now so hopefully the story should begin to come a little quicker again. Sorry the update is so measly but I promise there's more to come.

CHAPTER FOUR: WAKE UP CALL

Kyle winced as Uriel's heavy boot slammed heavily against the solid metal door of the building, sounding out with a resounding clang as it shook on its hinges. The sound of metal bending and snapping as the metal bolts that held the door shut shattered under the pressure, grated against his eardrums. 

The old apartment block was a crumbling shack, a relic haunted by the memories of far better days. It had taken them an hour to get here and the place was ominously quiet as they slipped inside, Uriel leading the way with his machine pistol drawn. 

Kyle tried to hold his breath against the fetid stench that wafted through the building. He'd lay money on there being a ruptured sewer line in this place, probably in the basement.

"Where are you taking me?" he whispered softly. Uriel didn't answer. His fingers simply tightened around his wrist instead.

It took them a full five minutes to ascend the flights of stairs to the top floor of the building, Kyle breathing a sigh of relief as the pungent odour of the lower floors began to drop away. 

The door to one of the upper floors apartments swung lazily in the draft that wafted through the building, disturbing a nearby rat that sat hunched in a pile of grease covered papers. Uriel moved toward the door slowly, extending his arm to push gently at it. The door swung inward silently. Kyle felt faintly disappointed. In the movies the door always creaked.

Suddenly Uriel shoved him clear of the door, spinning away to the other side of the doorframe himself as a wickedly sharp looking blade flashed forward out of the room beyond. 

"Fade! It's us!" The small oriental looking man poked his head out through the door. He looked just the same as Kyle remembered, except there was something more edgy about him now. He seemed less calm, less still than before. 

"I thought you were never going to show."  He said, ducking back inside. "There's still no sign of Buckshot." Uriel stepped through after him, shooting Kyle a look that definitely said to follow him. Kyle swallowed slightly before stepping inside. 

"That Agent," Fade was saying, "how did he know where we were? And why was he after him?" he nodded almost imperceptibly toward Kyle. 

"Same reason why we found him." Said Uriel, rolling his neck so that it cracked loudly. He seemed to be loosening up a little. "He's glitching, probably irreparable. The Agent will have orders to terminate." Kyle's eyes widened.

"Whoa there, hold your horses just one second." He said, trying to keep the rising panic out of his voice. "Did you just say terminate? Who? Me? That lightning fast real estate guy is trying to kill me?" Fade glanced over his shoulder, a look of pity in his eyes. Slowly he nodded.

"Okay, you guys have got some explaining to do! Who the hell was that guy, why's he trying to kill me and who the fuck are you?" he demanded. "What is going on here?" Fade took a step toward him raising his hands with the palms showing as if trying to calm him down. 

"Listen to me Kyle, I know what this is like for you, and I promise we'll explain everything but first you've got to…"

"Have you been dreaming?" The question was from Uriel. He was stood with his back squared against the wall, arms folded across his chest as he stood and watched the two of them. 

"Wh… What?" Kyle said, slightly taken aback.

"Have you been dreaming?" Uriel said again. 

"What do you mean by dreaming?" said Kyle. "Everyone dreams." A dark smile split Uriel's face. It wasn't a pleasant expression. 

"Not everyone wakes up." He said, turning and striding purposefully into the next room. 

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Kyle demanded, following him. He'd had just about enough of all this cryptic bullshit! He wanted answers and he wanted them now! He strode up behind Uriel and grabbed him forcefully by the shoulder. He never knew what hit him. Before he even had chance to draw breath, he'd been slammed so hard against the wall that he was sure he'd felt the plaster crack. His mouth opened in a silent sigh of pain. Uriel held him tightly by the throat, grinding him hard into the wall. His other hand went into one of the pockets of his coat, appearing moments later clutching a small red pill between his thumb and forefinger. 

"Uriel…" Fade began to object but he didn't have time to finish

"We don't have much time." Uriel hissed under his breath as he rammed the pill into Kyle's open mouth, before shoving his jaw closed and using his free hand to hold his nose.

"Swallow it!" he snarled. "Swallow it or I'll snap your neck right here and now!" Kyle's eyes widened. 

"I said swallow it!" Uriel roared, slamming his head heavily against the wall again. Kyle gulped slowly, feeling the pill slip uncomfortably down his constricted throat. 

"What the hell are you doing?" the voice was gruff and no nonsense. It was Buckshot. His left arm was cradled in the crook of his right. From the way his wrist was bent it was quite clear it was broken. 

"I'm doing what I have to." Uriel snapped. "We need him."

"Did you even give him a choice?" said Buckshot, folding his arms across his chest. Uriel's eyes narrowed. 

"Do you really think he has one? If we don't take him, and he manages to survive in here, sooner or later he'll unplug anyway." Suddenly a wave of nausea swept over Kyle, his stomach turning as the room seemed to lurch dizzyingly.

"What… what's going on?" he said, fighting the urge to vomit. "What was in that pill? Am I tripping or something?" Fade looked at him alarmed. 

"We need to do this now!" he said, taking Kyle by the arm and leading him into an adjoining room.

"What the hell did he do to me." Said Kyle as Fade lowered him slowly into a chair. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead, glistening in the dull light of the room. He glanced around, desperately searching for something to focus on, if only to stop the room from spinning. A strange computer set up lined one wall, the banks of the screens covered in strange displays and readouts that flickered in the dimness. Fade moved over to one of the computers, a cell phone appearing in his hand as he concentrated on the screen. Buckshot took up his position at the next machine. 

"Your dreams." Said Uriel, resuming his nonchalant posture against the wall. "Have you never wondered what they are?"

"Dozer?" Fade said into his phone. "We need a signal. He's going into cardiac arrest." Kyle's eyes widened with shock. 

"I'm what!" he said. The moment the words were out, he felt a sharp pain through his arm that quickly began to spread across his chest. 

"I'm getting a lock." Said Buckshot, staring intently at the screen as the readout flashed before his eyes. "Give me one more second… There! Got it!" he yelled. The pain was getting worse and Kyle could feel his breath catching in his throat.

"Dozer, do it now!" Fade said urgently. 

Suddenly it was as if the world around him had begun to melt, the walls peeling away under as a mysterious green light shone through from the other side. He stared in awe as the room seemed to drip away in a flood of green rain. The sounds slowed around him, growing distorted and faint, as if someone had hit the mute button on the world around him. He stared hard at the flood of green, trying hard to focus against the pain and for a moment he stood on the edge of enlightenment, the truth of this universe laid bare before him. The fire in his chest burned brightly; his mouth opened to scream but no sound came out. 

"It's time you woke up." Uriel's voice was the last thing he heard before he blacked out. 


End file.
